Peyton: Uncaged

As always, everyone involved in sexual activity are 18 years and older. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy.

Quill

***

I felt Phil’s eyes on me, even without turning to look at him. From across the abyss of the small space of our rental car, my husband watched me, as if cautiously observing the presence of a new lifeform.

There was music playing in the background; a radio station that neither of us knew. It didn’t matter. The sounds coming through the car’s speakers was mere white noise to cover up the agonizing silence of words not spoken.

My own eyes were staring out of the passenger window watching the trees blur together as they whipped across my view. My husband sat next to me, in the driver seat, alternating between being an attentive driver and sneaking glances at me.

Both of our thoughts were running wild with the chaos of this past three-day weekend. A trip to Vegas, a break away from our humdrum everyday existence, was just what we needed. We’d fallen into a rut of sorts, like most marriages that span a decade do. This was our chance to reconnect; to get back to who we were as a couple.

Little did we know what chain of events would lead us here. Our stale life had been turned upside down in a span of 72 hours. Our future, our marriage, our bond as husband and wife looked so different than they did this past Friday.

Who were we?

To all our friends, we were the “good couple.” Polite. Decent. Never disagreed or argued in public. Always held hands and kissed each other goodbye with a loving peck.

Were we those two people you see who can’t take their hands off each other? That couple annoyingly gnawing at each other in public? No. We were never that, not even in the beginning. Our loins didn’t burn with the fire of lust. Our connection was deeper than two genitals meeting in sweaty coitus for 15 or so minutes. I was in love with my husband’s mind, his soul, his very essence. And he was in love with mine.

As far as our sex life, it was…respectable, if such a word can exist for a sex life.

To me, he was a stable, faithful, dependable partner who valued me as his equal. I trusted him which, considering my history with men, was a big thing.

To him, I was the loving, caring, loyal woman who would never betray him. He as well had a jaded history with his previous wife who was unfaithful for a good majority of their marriage.

That’s all we needed to know about each other. Our sex life mattered so little amongst the rare gems we found when we met.

At least, that’s what we thought. We’d done a fantastic job convincing ourselves of this. It’s funny how much life can change in such a short amount of time.

This weekend had thrown back the curtain and showed us a glimpse at the people hidden behind our carefully constructed façade. Neither of us knew the hidden depravities that lurked within the mind of the other. We’d carefully hidden them from the world, safely tucked away in a secret compartment. We’d hidden them for so long that we ourselves had forgotten where to find them.

Well…not anymore.

A sigh came from Phil. I turned away from the scenery to look at my husband, thinking he was about to say something to kill this silence. Anything. Talk about the weather. Tell me he loved me. Call me the whore of Babylon. I would’ve welcomed any words to end this torture.

We locked eyes. There was a silent stare between us. His mouth opened, finally, and I awaited what I thought was the beginning of a conversation that was long overdue. But at the last second, he lost his nerve. His mouth closed into a thin-lipped smile. I awkwardly reciprocated with an awkward smile of my own before his eyes returned to the road.

“He can’t even look at me.” I chastised myself inside my head. “How could he? How can things ever be the same between us again after what’s happened? He knows. He knows I’m a slut.

I would’ve given everything I owned for just 30 seconds of being a mind reader. I wished I could see inside of Phil’s head. Just a peek, so I could determine my future. Was I about to be a single woman? A divorcee? A whore with a scarlet letter stamped on her chest?

Normally, he was an open book. After 10 years of being married to a man, you’ve had every conversation; laughed at every joke; heard every story. You come to a point where you can look at him and see what he’s feeling.

But not now.

Now, his expression was foreign, blank, and cryptic. He was lost in thought, trapped inside of his own head. No doubt, his brain was rewinding the events of last night; watching things transpire.

My husband can be your worst nightmare when it comes to poker, but now was not the time for him to go all mysterious on me. I needed to know how he felt about…everything.

I looked down at my sandals, my eyes latching onto the white painted toes of my freshly pedicured feet. My own mind wandered into the drunken abyss of the last few days. Images, both innocuous and carnal, flashed in my thoughts.

The dinging of slot machines. Hot breath on my neck. Illusionists and magic shows. Sweat dripping on my back. Wonderful, exotic meals mixed with expensive champagne. My hair getting pulled to the sounds of wet skin slapping. Singing and dancing. My orgasmic moans ringing out as hard cocks repeatedly plunged into my wet pussy.

I don’t know if my breathing changed, I looked different, or if my husband was just psychic. As my thoughts began to run away with the speed of an Olympic sprinter, Phil’s voice boomed through my reverie.

“You feeling okay, Peyton?”

It startled me out of my reverie. “Huh?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Nothing. I was just asking how you were.”

He sounded anxious; almost as anxious as I felt. His question, which seemed to come out of nowhere, had me unable to meet his eyes. I knew what he was asking; what his words weren’t saying.

He wanted to know about this weekend; about how I felt about…everything that happened. To him, I was completely unlike the wife he’d been married to for a half a decade. He didn’t recognize the woman of the past 72 hours. She was a stranger; a sexy alien that he’d only dreamed about.

The only thing I could say at that moment was, “I’m okay, I guess.” Then, with a bit of reticence in my voice, I added, “How about you?”

Even though he opened the volley, my return question threw him off almost as much as his threw me. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he shrugged and answered, “I feel…I don’t know…surreal.”

At least he was more straightforward and honest in his answer. Unfortunately, that was not what I needed to hear. I needed more reassurance than surreal.

My vision became blurred as my eyes teared up. I tried to hold it back, but it wasn’t long before it became too much for me. A sob cracked out of me.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Phil said as he reached over and gently touched my shoulder. “No need for that.”

“I’m…a slut!” I sputtered before devolving into more sobs.

“No…babe, don’t think like that.”

“I am! How could I do that? How could I…I…”

I couldn’t even say it. The words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. Saying it aloud made it real. It wasn’t just one of my vivid dreams. Those things really happened, and I did them.

And worse yet, I enjoyed it. Like a slut.

I felt the car pull over, which was odd seeing that we were on the freeway. A quick glance out the window assured me that we were safely in the shoulder.

When he put the car in park, he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over from his side to mine. He pulled me into a hug and wrapped his arms lovingly around me. I sniffled into his neck and leaned my head against his.

This. This is what I needed.

“Listen, Peyton. Don’t forget, I was there too. You did nothing by yourself, okay. You are not a slut. You are my wife. I love you more than life itself. Nothing will change that.”

His voice was tender and reassuring. His hands softly stroked my back in that way he does. It’s so comforting. So loving. It always calms me down.

But I didn’t deserve his love. I didn’t deserve his devotion. There was so much that he didn’t know about me; so much I didn’t tell him.

“Phil…I…need you to know…”

His kiss cut my words off.

I let out a sigh when his lips released me. A grateful smile formed on my face as I looked into the loving eyes that held me. “How can you even stand to look at me?” I asked.

“You do own a mirror, right?” he asked with a chuckle. “Looking at you has never been a chore.”

I let out a teary, flattered laugh at his unexpected compliment. “You know what I mean.” I said, semi-seriously.

“Yeah, I do.”

I could see him thinking, running things around in his head. He was gathering his thoughts and feelings. After a few beats, he gave me a nod.

“If I’m honest, the whole thing seems like a dream. You know? My brain still can’t connect. It’s like everything that happened happened to another couple. Like…I see it in my head, but from the outside, like I’m watching two people who aren’t us.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I agreed with a sigh, looking away as shame filled me. “I definitely don’t know who that woman was.”

That…was a lie. I knew EXACTLY who that woman was. She was the tigress I kept caged up inside of me, hidden beneath the carefully crafted persona that I portrayed to the world. She was the embodiment of all my hidden thoughts and passions. She was everything that I thought I buried after I left…him.

Phil gently lifted my chin with the tips of his fingers until our eyes were locked. “THAT woman is still my wife. You hear me? Nothing is gonna change that; not even…”

“Watching her fuck your two best friends right in front of you?” I finished his thought for him.

He paused, as if caught off guard. For a second, I feared I ruined things. But his contemplative face turned into a smile as he said, “Not even that.”

I broke down crying again, only this time for a different reason. Tears of relief, happiness, and love flowed. We embraced once more, hugging each other tightly.

But I couldn’t help that nagging voice telling me that he’d never love me if he knew everything.

***

I was always self-conscious about my body. I guess I can consider this a gift from my narcissistic mother. What she lacked in love and attention she more than made up for with condescension, judgement, and alcoholism.

I wasn’t the tall, leggy, sized-one model that appeared in magazines. That was my older sister. She was the spitting image of my mom, an ex-model/ lifelong pageant queen. Both had blonde, silky hair that stretched down their backs. Bright, blue eyes. Slim figures with perfect, ladylike proportions. Not an ounce of unnecessary fat on either of them; even my mom in her 40’s.

My sister and mom were, by all conventional standards, the perfect women; ladies born with classic beauty.

Me? I took after my father. I was only 5’3″ to their 5’9″. I had shoulder length brunette hair to their blonde; brown eyes to their blue. I was not the perfect barbie doll, and there was nothing exotic about me or strikingly beautiful.

However, that wasn’t the worst of my sins. My worst sin was…I was a chubby kid. That, in the eyes of my perfectionist mother, was irredeemable.

Commandment number one according to Gloria 3:15 was: As a woman, thou shalt not be fat.

She was so obsessed with the perfect image. It was like our entire lives was to prepare us for the pictures she took for Instagram, or the family photos that hung all over our house. We were boxes to be checked, not people.

Wealthy husband? Check. Expensive house? Check. Sporty cars? Check. Beautiful daughters?

Christina? Check.

Peyton? Peyton? Peyton?

I was told I was taking ballet at age 9. It didn’t matter if I liked it or not. The same with being a vegetarian.

Ballet for me was a mixed bag. I enjoyed dancing. I also wanted to please my mother. But it messed with me mentally.

As you know, there is a certain…physique…most successful ballerinas share. Well, I wasn’t that. Not petite. Not slender. So, growing up always surrounded by people who didn’t look like me took a toll on my young mind. I always felt out of place; like my very existence was wrong.

Over the years, I grew into my body, as most kids turning into adults do. By the time I reached the ripe age of 18, that childhood chub had turned into…something else. My waist was slim, and my stomach was flat. I even had abs. However, the same DNA that made me a chubby kid also made certain features of my anatomy more…voluptuous.

I had D cup breasts, not much bigger than my sister’s C’s. However, on my small body, they were much more pronounced. And thanks to a lifestyle of dance, the thickness of my hips, thighs, and derriere were toned. Even my round, cherubim face fit my sinfully sexy body.

No, I wasn’t the model that would walk the runway. However, I was certainly built like a model that would appear in…other places.

I noticed the effects that my curves had on men. It was different than my sister’s or mother’s. Men told them how beautiful they were, but they couldn’t take their eyes off me. Eyes followed me around the room. Men often tried talking to me away from the group. My young mind ate the attention up, thinking I was finally as beautiful as the other ladies in my family. I didn’t realize there was a difference between how they saw us.

My mother did, of course. She knew what wicked desires lied behind the eyes of the men. She knew it was their cocks appreciating me, not their hearts.

Thus, her criticism of me took a detour. She couldn’t call me Little Miss Piggy anymore. I’d graduated to Little Miss Slut.

Apparently, everything I did was to “tease every hard cock within a 10-block radius”. Anything short of a baggy hoodie was insufficient in hiding the perky swell of my young, gravity defiant globes. Jeans were too tight on my hips and ass. Skirts were too short. Shorts were obscene.

It was like she blamed me for the body I had.

By the time I reached high school, I’d fed and nurtured a healthy resentment towards Gloria. I didn’t want to be her clone like my sister. I wanted to be everything she wasn’t. I wasn’t prim and proper. I wasn’t a pageant queen or a model.

I was Peyton. And I was set to find out who Peyton was.

So, I quit ballet and joined the dance team at my school. It was a much better fit for me. I enjoyed it so much more, and I fit in better. I wasn’t some prissy Stepford daughter built in a factory. I was different. I needed more of a diverse group to belong to. And I found it on the dance squad. All the girls were so different, and yet, we were all the same. Our body types meshed into a synchronized unit of rhythm and movement.

The dance moves were more sensual; more suggestive. But they fit my personality more than Pliés and Pirouettes ever did.

Next change I made was, I ate whatever the hell I wanted. No more diets for me. No more Gloria-sanctioned food. Pizza with pepperoni and sausage. Steak. Pork chops from the Soul Food place that became my all-time fav restaurant. All the things I was denied as a kid, I ate at my pleasure.

And yes, part of my rebellion was the tried-and-true act of teenage defiance. I dyed my hair with streaks of blue, pink, or whatever other color would piss Gloria off.

And you know what? I liked it. I liked me. Gloria’s frustration was my beacon in the night, letting me know that I was moving in the right direction.

My rebellion widened the canyon between us. My father wasn’t concerned. He saw it for what it was, a teen girl’s attempt to find her own identity. He understood me. He even admired it a little. I could see it in his eyes. No matter how much the she-devil shrieked at him to intervene and bring me back into obedience, he just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

The day I left for college was the day I truly reclaimed my life. College for me was about freedom. Nothing short of a two-hour plane ride stood between me and the leggy blondes to which I was compared. Here, I truly got to be my own person.

But I eventually found that even distance couldn’t fully free me from Gloria’s oppressive reign over me. We never really escape the insecurities of our childhood. They stay with you; become a part of you. The only thing physical freedom does is give them room to fully blossom into bad life choices.

Once I separated myself from my mom and moved a few hours away, I found a fundamental truth that changed my perspective. Once I stopped being compared to the leggy blondes, I realized I was NOT the ugly duckling I was led to believe I was. Here, I was just me. Small waist, pretty face, with a big bank.

I was fucking hot.

I want to say that this newfound attention didn’t affect me because I was more concerned with cultivating my mind. I wish I could tell you that the attention I got from guys who finally saw me instead of my sister was mere background noise that I ignored. It would be so great to be able to claim with full honestly that I did not succumb to the rampant nature of hook-up culture and remained focused on my studies.

Ah…yes. If only

***

COLLEGE YEARS:

Let’s just say that I learned a lot in the next 4 years, but most of my important lessons came from outside the classroom. There was more to college than formulas, thesis statements, and crash studying. There was also human nature, human depravity, and hedonism that can only exist in the porn addled generation of Z babies.

I was educated at frat parties, in back seats, sneaking into dorm rooms, and at various risky, public places. I had many teachers in my human sexuality lessons. Most of them were male. Most of them were peers my age.

Notice I said most. There were a couple of…ahem…curious moments. And there was a certain professor who was not a peer my age. He had a lot to teach me, both inside the classroom and out.

Take that as you will.

To me, sex was like a buffet. Believe me, I sampled much of the array. I wasn’t a virgin when I entered college, but for me, my sex life didn’t happen until then.

My first dip into the sex pool of college happened with weeks of my freshman year. The weather was still warm, and classes had just started.

There was this frat guy. Josh. His hunter instinct had his wolf eyes zeroed in on me since he first saw my boobs bouncing down the street as I walked back to my dorm after sampling a local ice cream shop. My T-shirt did nothing to camouflage the fullness hidden within my bra.

Yes, he was hot, in that preppy, arrogant, entitled, rich heir sort of way. He was a Senior and was a well-established figure on the campus. His reputation was the high spending, panty-collecting Romeo.

He was a player. A dog. A fuck-boi.

It was apparent from the jump that his interest in me had nothing to do with my personality. Our first conversation lasted well over an hour, and I’d have been willing to wager money that he didn’t even know what color my eyes were.

Still, the attention sparked something inside of me. It fed that part of me that’d been starving all through my youth. For once, I was desired. I was pretty.

His fraternity was having a party. It was supposed to be wild, epic even. But aren’t they all?

Of course, he invited me to be his special guest. Of course, I accepted. Of course.

When I arrived, I practically had to swim through a sea of drunken, gyrating bodies to even get into the house with the large, Greek letters over the front door. The music was booming from inside the house. The laughter was ringing through the night air. The smell of alcohol, marijuana, and sex filled my nostrils.

Josh saw me before I saw him. I was wandering around, looking like a doe-eyed gazelle, ready to be eaten.

“Hey, Sexy.” I heard from behind me. I turned to face Josh, who’s predator eyes were roaming over my supple body. I wish I could say that I did nothing to garner such a leer, but I’d be lying. I felt a little intimidated coming to my first college party. I knew I’d be competing with other women; women who were older and more experienced than I was. I didn’t want to look like someone invited their baby sister to the party, so I made sure to turn up the sexy.

I went for the Dallas cheerleader look. The white top I was wearing tied together between my breasts, and the frilly sleeves were transparent. This not only highlighted how big my breasts were, but it also showed off my toned midriff.

Over my bottom I wore some cut-off Daisy Duke jean shorts. They were obscenely small, and with my butt and thighs, they were downright pornographic.

And of course, the signature cowboy boots.

With the way Josh was drooling, I think I accomplished my mission. I took pride in that stunned, lust-filled stare. Looking around, there were definitely a lot of beautiful women here tonight. If he found me as irresistible as them, then I was doing something right.

College was going to be fun.

“Hey yourself.” I answered his greeting with a flirty smile.

He stepped closer to me, entering that sacred space only reserved for intimacy. In a low, throaty tone, he said, “I was scared you weren’t gonna show. I would’ve been highly disappointed if I missed you.”

I rolled my eyes, looking around at the plethora of scantily clad women in attendance. After a small head shake, I said, “I’m sure you would’ve found some other distraction.”

“Maybe.” His said, giving me a confident smirk and a shrug. “But that distraction wouldn’t have been as sexy as you.”

Yes, my naïve, freshman, know-nothing-about-wolves ass ate that corny shit right up. I was used to high school boys, not men in their 20’s who could sniff out my inexperience.

Josh took me over to the table where a pledge was making drinks. He offered me a drink, but I declined. While I was flattered that he was paying so much attention to me, I knew enough to not trust his motives.

However, Josh was experienced in the art of persuasion.

“Oh C’mon!” he said. “You gotta loosen up. You can’t come to a frat party and not drink. It’s…like…sacrilegious. The gods of college would not be pleased!”

Shaking my head with a laugh, I waved him off and half playfully said, “Taking a strange drink from a frat guy wanting to loosen me up? No thanks.”

He looked at me with an exaggerated expression of hurt. Then he tipped his head back and just inhaled the beer that he was supposed to be giving me. When he was done, he looked at me with a “TA DA” look before grabbing another and handing it to me.

“See? It’s safe. Nothing unseemly in it. Nothing but alcohol.” Said the wolf to the sheep. Then, with a smile dripping with boyish innocence, he added, “You can trust me, gorgeous. I promise.”

Naively, my hand reached for my first beer of the night.

For the next few hours, I was introduced to the wonders of a college party. Beer pong. Belly shots. Dry humping…err…dancing. Watching strangers disappear to hook up.

Needless to say, I was a bit overwhelmed. I also noticed several guys giving me a hungry look, much like Josh did. Even though I purposely dressed like a tart to get attention, I was beginning to feel anxious.

I stayed close to Josh’s side. For all intents and purposes, he was sort of my protector, keeping the other wolves at bay. As far as hunters go, he was the obvious alpha. The other guys responded to him like the pack leader. If he sent somebody on a beer run, the guy left the girl he was dancing with to head out. If he whispered to the DJ, the music instantly changed.

And as far as his little lamb was concerned, when a guy was getting too “friendly” with me, he appeared from the shadows with his arm possessively around my shoulders. A silent exchange between them was made only using their eyes. Then, the other guy slinked away to hit on another girl.

I felt kind of special being on the arm of the king. I felt safe with him, knowing that no one at that party was going to lay a hand on me.

Little did I know, my wolf wasn’t protecting me. He was saving me for himself.

When Josh said I could trust him, he only meant that he was trustworthy enough to not spike my drink. In that case, he was a beacon of honesty. None of the many pixie cups of beer filled to the brim that he brought me were spiked. As for the X he gave me via a French kiss, I knew full well what I was taking.

I just underestimated how it would affect me. But my wolf knew. Perhaps Josh wasn’t out to drug and rape me, but his cock still had a plan for my tender, young flesh.

Step one: gain my trust.

Step two: get me drunk to lower my inhibitions. Get me high on X so that every touch ignited my nerve endings.

Step three: capitalize on my lowered inhibitions and electrified skin. Take me on the dancefloor. Gently rub his fingers along my stomach, my legs, my neck. Nibble on my ears, the nape of my neck. Grind his hard penis into the crevice of my ass. Maul my barely covered tits. Whisper into my ear.

Turn me into a drunken ball of lust and hormones until I can’t even think straight.

Step four: herd me away from the crowd, into his private lair reserved for naïve lambs ready for the slaughter.

Step Five? Well, we all know step five. If he got me here, it’s already too late.

By the time I was on step five, my body was aching to be fucked. The X had me ready to sit on a cactus. Josh didn’t even have to lure me away. I was willing to follow him anywhere.

“C’mon Beautiful.” He said to me. “Let’s get you up to my room.”

With that, he took me by the hand and guided me through the sea of misogyny. As I passed, random hands grabbed my tits, squeezed my ass, and gave Josh crude praises for what they suspected was my future.

I didn’t fight this. In fact, it worked in Josh’s favor, because each touch made me want to fuck.

Once the door closed behind us, I was lifted in the air by two strong hands gripping my ass so hard that my cheeks spread. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his head, and let him carry me where he wanted me. However, when I tried to kiss him, he threw me backwards onto his bed.

The thing I recall most about this night was the look of pride and satisfaction on his face as he looked down at his conquest. There was a lascivious sneer on his lips. Only now did it begin to dawn on me what I’d walked into.

The music thumped beneath our feet, muffled by the thick walls separating us from the party. Sounds of laughter and conversation were an entire world away. I was alone, in this room, with a man that wanted to devour me.

His heavy body descended on me and engulfed me like a blanket. The smell of alcohol and Axe body spray filled my nose. Somehow, he’d grown eight hands and two mouths, because they were everywhere. My tits. My legs. My ass. Between my thighs. No skin was safe.

Things were moving at warp speed, and my cloudy brain was having trouble keeping up. A surge of fear filled me at my tenuous situation.

“Wait…Josh…”

My protests were immediately cut off by his mouth. Loud, smacking sounds of us kissing filled my ears. Those octopus’ hands snaked down my body, slid between us, and undid the button of my jean shorts. The X was still working my nerves, and I was lost in confusion. My body wanted to be fucked, but my mind wanted escape.

“Josh. Please. I just…need a minute…”

Once again, my soft objections were ignored. Hunters don’t really concern themselves with the whining of their prey. Josh was on a mission. The hand that unfastened my shorts slipped beneath the harsh material to find softer material to touch. Over the cotton of my panties, he found the mound of my vagina. And with just a hook and a swipe of his fingers, he pulled them to the side to expose the sweet flesh beneath.

“Josh, we need to…to…Ugh God!”

Josh had found my clit, and I lost all semblance of reality. I melted right there. There was no more fight in me. Honestly, my fate was sealed the moment I showed up at this party. I didn’t even stand a chance of escaping this night without a cock in my mouth and pussy. If it wasn’t Josh’s dick getting wet with my juices, it would’ve been some other lucky bastard.

His other hand untied the knot holding my shirt together. My tits spilled out into the open, erect nipples and all. Josh sneered at them before he took a chocolate areola into his mouth. I couldn’t stop my legs from spreading of their own volition and giving his fingers an open invitation to play (literally).

My mouth opened and my moans permeated the room. I didn’t realize how loud I was until the door burst open. A couple of laughing hyenas fell into the room. They’d been listening to my moans on the other side and just had to come in and investigate.

I was horrified. My tits were out, my legs were open, my shorts were crooked, my panties were pulled to the side, and my pussy was in view. No doubt they had a pornographic picture of what Josh’s fingers were up to down there.

I gasped in horror and scrambled to cover up, but Josh held me in that lewd position, still fingering my pussy.

“Dude!” one of the drunken assholes said as his eyes fell to my spread open legs. “She’s so fucking hot! Let us get a piece!”

“Steve, get out! ” Josh ordered, his tone angry. “And take dumbass with you!”

I didn’t know which guy was Steve, and which was dumbass. It didn’t’ matter. I just wanted them to stop gawking at my tits, stop staring between my legs.

“C’mon.” one of them begged. “At least let me see what she smells like!”

With that, Josh’s face changed. It was no longer angry at them. There was a deviant smile on his face. He brought his fingers from out of my shorts and held them up. They were soaked with my juices and glistening.

To my horror, he said, “Come here.”

The two idiots scrambled over to him and sniffed his fingers. They SNIFFED HIS FINGERS! What kind of perverted shit was this? It was like I wasn’t even a human at that point. I was just a sex object here for their pleasure.

“Yo…dude…you gotta let me get next!”

“Me too!”

“Hello!” I thought. “I’m right here!”

I couldn’t say that out loud because the only thing that could escape my mouth were moans. Josh’s thumb was swiping up and down across my clit, and I was trapped by the orgasm that was build, even before he started fucking me.

For a second, Josh looked like he was considering it. I laid there, helplessly praying he wouldn’t do that to me. As horrified as I was by the prospect, I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to fight off a gangbang.

Somehow, my trembling lips managed to say, “Josh…no…please…

Hearing that reminded him of me. Thankfully, he shook his head and said, “Get out. Give me and Peyton some privacy. Go get your own girl.”

“Fuck!” the begging idiot grunted before dejectedly leaving the room and shutting the door.

We were alone once again. Josh’s eyes returned to me, and with a voice filled with lust, he asked, “Now where were we?”

***

The next few hours were a blur. I was high, so parts of my recollection are jumbled and hazy. I know I sucked Josh’s dick. I remember it tasting salty in my mouth. Somewhere along the way, I was flipped over onto my face, with my cheek on the mattress. I wasn’t lying comfortably flat, like I do when I’m sleeping. I was on my knees, with my ass in the air. My wrists were locked behind me, at the small of my back, being held together in the grip of a big, strong hand.

And I was…bouncing; bouncing to the beat of a creaking bed and him pounding his dick into me. The slapping of his stomach hitting my ass made it jiggle.

“Ugh…Yeah. Fuck, you’ve got a wet pussy!” I heard Josh’s voice cut through the fog of my mind.

My eyes fell to the floor, and I saw my panties, balled up lying next to my shorts. The tiny flowers in the print stood out to me for some reason. I was hit with the fact that Josh was taking my pussy at will because right now, it didn’t belong to me. It was his.

I now heard other things. Grunting. Moaning. The sounds of a woman about to cum in the best way.

Oh shit. That woman was me.

I was getting the daylights fucked out of me. I was literally being pounded into the mattress. There was nothing gentle about Josh’s annexation of my body. It was raw. It was animalistic. He fucked me porn style, pounding his pelvis into the soft bumpers of my ass cheeks as he took me at his pleasure.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Squeak-creak! Squeak-creak! Squeak-creak! Squeak-creak!

“Ungh! Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!”

With each penetration, his hard phallus pushed deep into my pussy, only to retreat for mere seconds before filling me again. With each penetration, I was being driven closer and closer to orgasm.

Josh was right about one thing. I was drenched. I could hear the squishing noises and smell the musky scent of my arousal.

I tried to raise from the degrading position I was in so I could turn head and look at my conqueror, but I was pushed back down by a hand between my shoulder blades. It obviously wasn’t the hand cuffing my wrists behind because I was very much still immobile. That hand that pushed me down then went back to gripping my hip like it was a handlebar.

“Uh-uh. Don’t look at me. You just lay there and take this dick, you little slut.”

For some reason, hearing him call me a little slut set me off in a big way. My orgasm was so hard, so loud, that it made me shake like I had Parkinson’s.

“Yeah. Cum on my dick, slut.”

I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m such a fucking slut.

I thought I was thinking that inside my head. I didn’t realize I was moaning it so loud that I could be heard outside the door.

***

The next morning, I woke up in a strange bed with a hangover, a headache, and a sore pussy. Next to me, Josh was snoring happily away, a satisfied smile on his face.

Why wouldn’t he be happy? He just spent the entire night balls deep inside of a wet pussy. He fell asleep, woke up next to a hot piece of ass, and took her again. And I let it happen. Repeatedly, I let him have me.

As I slowly rose from the bed, I felt something dried and sticky on my stomach. And on my back. Didn’t take long to figure out that it was dried cum. After each round of fucking me, Josh ripped his condom off and jerked his load all over whatever part was exposed.

I was such a slut.

I quietly slipped out bed and found my strewn clothes all over the floor (what little clothes I wore). I desperately needed a shower, but no way was I going to take one here. I tip-toed around the room, taking special care to not make any noise. I didn’t want to wake Josh for fear that he’d want one more for the road. Honestly, I needed to rest my pussy and give her time to recover from the pounding.

I managed to escape without waking the Krakken. I didn’t put my boots on in the room because my bare feet allowed me the stealth of a ninja. So, I grabbed them, snuck from the room, and eased the door shut with the softest “click”. Then I took a seat at the top of the stairs and finished dressing.

As I was slipping my foot into the boot, a scream rang out from down below. Next, I saw a girl go running barefoot across the dixie-cup-littered living room and out the front door. Her hair was a frazzled mess, and she was crying as she ran. It looked like she was holding her shirt over her breasts, like it no longer fit.

The sight startled me. Before I could process that, I guy came stumbling drunkenly from the same direction she ran from. He yelled after the girl, telling her to wait. But when she escaped out the front door, he stopped chasing her and let out a sigh.

Then, he looked up the stairs and saw me. An evil smile formed on his lips.

I immediately recognized him. And from the looks of things, he remembered me also. Even with my brain cloudy with alcohol and X, his face stood out. He was either Steve or Dumbass, the guys that smelled my essence via Josh’s pussy-soaked fingers.

When he turned towards the steps and saw me sitting there, I saw the recognition in his eyes. He was leering at me. I wanted to run, but he was blocking the only direction I needed to go, which was down the stairs and out the front door.

One by one, each of his feet hit the stairs, bringing him closer to me. Slowly he rose, wobbling drunkenly, until he was right next to me.

I avoided looking up at him. I couldn’t meet his eyes for fear of what I might find there. Despite the fact that I was ignoring him, he still took the time to offer a greeting.

“Sup.”

I just gave him a quick wave and continued to put on my boot. As I did so, I purposely kept my eyes down. He just stood there, creepily watching me without saying another word. Even though I wasn’t looking at his face, I knew exactly where his eyes were landing on my body. From the height he was at, no doubt he was getting an unobstructed view down my shirt. My tits are usually distracting, but this shirt did me no favors.

When I’d finally shoved my foot inside my boot, I stood to leave. Unfortunately, he was aware enough to put his arm in front of me and grab the railing. He was blocking my path of escape, so I had to sheepishly turn to him and say, “Uh…excuse me please.”

He didn’t budge. The only part of him that moved was his head, and that was because he was now also looking at the rest of my body. He even craned his neck to look around me at my ass.

“I have to go.” I said, reminding him of my request to be allowed to leave.

Still, he didn’t move. Instead, a voice that still had that morning grumble to it came from his mouth and asked, “You were the one with Josh last night, right?”

I wanted to scream at him that it was none of his business, but I was so uncomfortable with this guy that I lost all bravado. The way he looked at me just gave me the creeps.

When I didn’t answer him, he nodded with an unpleasant smile. “Yeah. It was you. I smelled that sweet pussy of yours.”

“I…um…need to get back.” I nervously said.

He shook his head. “Naw. You should let me get another sniff. I’ve been hard for you ever since last night.”

He leaned into me, making me recoil from his impending touch. I squealed in disgust when I felt his finger trail along my neck and swipe my hair out the way. I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy and strong.

Just when I was about to scream at the top of my lungs, movement from upstairs distracted him. Using this to my advantage, I ducked beneath his arm and hastily descended the stairs. Only when I was safely out of that house did I breathe and relax.

***

Over the next few days, what happened at the party stuck with me. The way Josh fucked me, the way his frat bros smelled my pussy, the way the scary one sized me up in the hallway, all of it made me feel…gross. I was not a human being to those guys. I was a nice set of tits, a round ass, and a wet pussy. Those parts just happened to be attached to a woman.

I couldn’t shake that feeling. Worse than that, I couldn’t not wonder about the “What if’s”

What if Josh gave those guys permission to fuck me? What if Mr. Scratch and Sniff wasn’t distracted in the hallway? What if I hadn’t taken the X? What if I’d just not even gone to the party?

How different would things have turned out?

To add even more insult to injury, I saw Josh walking with two of his frat buddies a couple days later. They were laughing and joking around. Instantly, I became self-conscious. Were they talking about me? Was Josh bragging to them about the stupid bitch with the big tits he railroaded in his bedroom?